


Demons

by AlmandineWinter



Series: Demons [1]
Category: SS-GB (TV)
Genre: M/M, SS-GB AU, SS-GB/The Dark Valley crossover, mentions of rape and violence, set in late 19th century but don't expect historical correctness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2019-11-16 14:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18096233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmandineWinter/pseuds/AlmandineWinter
Summary: Douglas Archer is a successful young detective who learns about a twisted story that changes his life forever.





	1. Touching darkness

In the morning of a dull day in April Chief Inspector Douglas Archer was summoned to the Yard. A young woman had been brought from the German Imperium to London through the inscrutable pathways of the church. The only information they had on her came from a written note by a pastor. Allegedly she was a widow with relatives in London where she wanted to stay and cure an unspecified illness. The only English word the woman could say was “murder”. They sent for him who was not only a detective with great prospects, a very young soon-to-be Superintendent, but also fluent in German due to the great parts of his childhood he had spent with an uncle and his wife from German descent.

It turned out that she talked in a heavy Austrian dialect which was very hard for him to understand. Most of their conversation was in writing until he got used to it. He spent a lot of time with her, trying to figure out what had happened to her. The doctor told him that she was pregnant in an early state and had injuries that indicated brutal rape and abuse. On top of that she suffered from pneumonia.

At first, she wouldn’t tell him any details, she just insisted that they should find her relatives, but they either never had existed or vanished from the face of the earth. Only after he insistently told her that it was unlikely for her to get asylum and he merely was able to help her if he knew what happened, she started talking. But even though he understood the words his mind struggled to grasp the events.

14 years ago, she and her parents came to “the dark valley”, as she called it, “das finstere Tal”. They were poor, the cruel alpine winter was already tangible. Without shelter and work they would have died for sure. The Brenner family, the valley’s leaders, a widower and his five sons, permitted them to stay if they agreed to their terms: In the event of the daughter’s marriage, one of the Brenner’s was going to claim the droit du seigneur, but not only in the wedding night; she would have to stay with him until she was pregnant. The parents were in desperation, but eventually they agreed, hunger was eating away their will and the event seemed so far in the future that it appeared vague and unimportant compared to a certain death in a few weeks. But much too soon the day came when she married. Her husband, a courageous and strong-willed man refused to have his wife falling into the Brenner’s hands. The couple decided to flee, paying the grocer in the close-by city to hide them. But the Brenners paid more. They took the husband, beat him half dead. She was brutally violated and forced to watch them crucifiy him. They arranged the cross on a hill in front of the valley where he should hang until nothing was left of him. Filled with rage she managed to escape on one of their horses and found protection in an abbey. With the help of the church she then made it to London, wasting the last bit of money and strength she had left, disgraced, hurt and sick. Now she was desperate, had nowhere to go, and the child of her tormentor grew in her belly. 

Archer was appalled. His job came with witnessing violence of course, but never had he heard of such an unnecessary, despicable amount of cruelness. He felt for her, this unlucky woman who had experienced an unspeakable crime, and for the innocent unborn child, the very proof of an unatoned monstrosity. In the following weeks he tried to get her case resolved, but it was a fight against windmills. His superior found the woman’s story “not believable”, but he was at least willing to make contact with the Austrian authorities. They received no answer.

Archer was determined to serve up justice, but that wouldn’t grant her a life. It was certain that she had no future whatsoever, therefore he couldn’t just close her case. He wanted for her to have her honour back and legitimation of the child, so he asked her to marry him. But it was not only altruism that brought him about this decision – he constantly overworked and spent too much money in pubs in his little free time; his life was very empty and lonely. The thought of coming to a lively home after work, a smile and a warm meal, a little child jigging about, was tempting. And the tenacious rumours about why he still wasn’t married at his age and that he was “too pretty for women but his beauty surely was appreciated somewhere else” would finally be silenced.

They had a few months together, a very harmonious time. She was healing slowly, although her anger and hate never faded. Archer did his best to support her. Their relationship was more like brother and sister than husband and wife, they even looked alike, both with dark hair and eyes, strong facial bone structure and full lips. He never touched her. She took it for respect and care and was thankful for him being so patient. He told her not to worry about it, and they never spoke of it again. In the nights he laid beside her, listened to her coughs and rattling breath and felt peaceful, even a little bit happy. He didn’t mind for it to stay like this. Maybe he could have loved her eventually, in his way, certainly he would have loved the child, – with delight he watched her belly grow –, but they died, his wife after giving birth and the baby of an infection a few days later.

He didn’t give up on getting justice for her. Finally, there came a note from Austria that claimed that said valley didn’t exist and the chief of police himself told Archer to rest the case if he wanted to keep his job. His anger grew with every day, he felt like he hadn’t done enough. His flat was more than ever silent and cold, ghosts in the corners, the shape of her face on the pillow remained. The cradle, empty and dusty, stood like a memorial before him. Archer knew from experience that it was dangerous thing for a man of the law to lose faith in justice. But here he was, nursing and nourishing the cold anger that grew inside him.


	2. Blackening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archer is at a turning point. Kellermann helps him make a decision (kind of).

Archer decided to take a walk home after work; he had a lot on his mind, a little night stroll in the mild air would clear his head. It’s been four months since his wife had died, and he missed her. His constant insisting on clearing her case had brought him nothing but trouble; the investigation he did privately was a write-off – it was nearly impossible to get more information on “the Valley”. The only source left was his late wife’s diary, which he eventually read reluctantly, only to find out more gruesome details of her suffering. At least he had a clearer picture of the persons involved. The anger remained like a lump of glowing ash in his stomach.

Archer felt like a failure, although his work in the Yard was very successful. He was about to close a dodgy murder investigation that would gain him the rank of a Superintendent. Also, it made him even lonelier, the number of grudgers grew constantly.

He stopped at the Thames, thankfully it was quiet and he could enjoy the view in peace. He took a cigarette when he saw someone next to him lighting a match.

“May I?” the person asked and, presuming consent, lit his cigarette. Kellermann. A colleague, rather a rival, with great ambitions and few skills, an oily sneaky bastard. Archer hated him with a passion.

“Thank you” he murmured and continued watching the river. Kellermann stood next to him, lighting a cigarette for himself.

“Well, Archer, back to old habits?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I need to be more specific, it seems? I’m not talking about opera or pubs.”

Archer felt his heart stumbling. What was the man up to? He managed to maintain his poker face. Kellermann threw him a sly side glance.

“Still no idea? Well, I’m talking about you ‘special interests’ – John or James or whatever their names are.”

Archer froze. “What the hell is this about, Kellermann?”

Kellermann took a deep pull on his cigarette and then tossed it into the water. “It’s very simple, actually. Personally, I really don’t care what you do in your free time, but imagine what happens if the public gets the wind of it? Uhm, that would be very bad for you, right? End of career, prison, disgrace …”

Archer turned to him, eyes blackening, mouth a thin line. “Let’s not disguise this as a friendly warning. You are blackmailing me. What do you want?”

“Straight to the point as always” Kellermann nodded approvingly. “Allow me to be blunt. I want your case. I want the credit. Give me all your information and tell the chief that you are sick or whatever, just withdraw from it. You would do me and many others a great favour.”

Kellermann barely finished his sentence when he felt a steely grip on his throat. His eyes widened with fear. Archer was nothing like the smart, smooth and eloquent detective he had known for years. His face was blank, his eyes much too cold for someone so angry. Only the shaking hand with which was choking the life out of Kellermann, gave his state of mind away.

Archer was trembling with rage. Even if the man was bluffing, he couldn’t risk anything. Maybe Kellermann was able to make something up. Or maybe he really had proof. Because it has happened, those shameful encounters in this sleezy brothel for which he paid. Maybe someone had seen him, maybe the boys were willing to talk for a little money to help with their miserable lives. He wouldn’t blame them. How much he hated himself for having the need to make use of such services! Either way, whenever Archer’s work would impend to outsmart his colleague in a future case – which would be always – Kellermann would bring the matter up again. His career was more or less over.

“You god damned rat” he hissed and let go.

Kellerman coughed and gasped; for a moment he had thought that he wouldn’t live to see another day. But instantly he was back to his usual self, grinned and put his clothes in order. “We have an agreement?”

Archer took a deep breath. “You will have my resignation next week. I have some things to do first. Private things.”

“Very well” Kellerman nodded. “Just make sure that we don’t have to mortify your late wife.” With a tap on his head he left, Archer’s burning gaze in his back.

After he had calmed down, Archer wondered why he had given up so easily; then he realised that he was relieved. Now he didn’t have to choose what to do, the decision had been made for him. The plan that had evolved in the back of his mind for weeks, layer by layer, was clear now. He had nothing to lose. It was time to burn all bridges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the characters. This was posted as a part of a series but I made it the second chapter instead.  
> Huth will appear soon :)


	3. Oh, sinnerman, what are you gonna do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archer finally arrives at the valley, doubting his plans. His host is not what he expected.

Train, ship, carriage, and now he travelled on a horse’s back, another horse in his tow line to carry his baggage. It was a seemingly never-ending journey. Two days ago, he had left the last bit of civilization, being called a madman for going deeper into the mountains alone to find a supposedly non-existent place.

In the midst of the Alps he was, tired, dusty and with a terribly hurting back. The weather was sunny and still mild, but the air was fresh and already too clear for autumn. In the solitude, beneath the majestic mountains, everything felt unimportant and petty. Archer tried to remember what had brought him here. He had lost track of time; it was like he was in a vacuum, thrown back on himself. With every passing hour, he doubted more what he was about to do. Not because it was dangerous – it definitely was –, but was it justified? Would he really be able to do what he had schemed, brooding in his lonely home? At some point he was about to stop, to turn back and start over somewhere else.

But in his mind, he owed his wife. Her image that he carried in a locket around his neck, outweighed his qualms. At least, he wanted to see the place to get a view of the situation, the people and their relationships, to be sure that he would take the right actions if he decided to follow through with his plans.

Just when he was sure that he would never find his destination, he spotted a passageway that could be the one his wife had described, the one that lead to the valley – and insulated it from the rest of the world, narrow, with steep rocks, impossible to pass through in winter. After he left it behind, there was a wide lowland with softer hills and grassland, beautiful and peaceful looking.

He knew that he had found the right place, when he saw two men on horses at a hill to his right, watching and following him, keeping a distance. He passed people who interrupted their work to stare at him with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. Finally, he arrived at a point that looked like a market place.

It turned out that he was expected. A group of five men awaited him, their miens making very clear that he wasn’t welcome. One that seemed to be their leader snapped at him.

“Who are you?”

“Archer,” he simply replied.

“What do you want?”

“Lodging.”

The men looked at each other, incredulous, only the leader didn’t stop fixating on him.

“How long?” He continued his interrogation.

“For the winter.”

The man shook his head. “Just go back where you came from. We don’t want you here.”

Archer dismounted his horse. He took something out of the saddlebag and threw it to the guy. A small sachet full of gold coins.

The man – Hans, as Archer learned later – seemed slightly amused.

“What do you even want here?”

Instead of an answer, Archer showed him. The youngest of the group volunteered and was rewarded with a colour photograph of himself posing with his favourite rifle. The people here had obviously never seen a photo; this and the gold was enough to convince the old patriarch, who was consulted with the matter, to let Archer stay.

“Come on then,” said Hans maliciously. “You’re going to stay at the witches house.”

He laughed, and almost everyone followed them to two offside standing houses. Hans pointed at the bigger one.

“Here live the Garders, a widow and her daughter. You will get your meals there; you wouldn’t want to eat your host’s food. And they have a stable for your horses.”

They arrived at the smaller house. Hans knocked at the door.

“Hey, Doc!”

From behind the house appeared a figure, very tall, very slender and very dirty. The man was covered in mud, his blonde hair was tousled and filthy. Archer was stared at from a pair of light blue, cold and observant eyes.

“What is this about?” Demanded the man to know, not taking his gaze off the stranger.

Hans pointed at Archer.

“This is you boarder for the winter. His name is Archer. Be nice to him and try not to poison him, if possible.”

He gave him two gold coins. “One is for you, the other one for the Garders. Make sure they get it and show your guest the stable.”

With that, he and everyone else walked off, leaving Archer, who felt very uncomfortable, behind. Letting him stay here was the local’s kind of humour, it seemed. He pulled himself together to introduce himself formally.

“My name is Douglas Archer. I’m from London. That is in …”

“England, I know,” he was interrupted.

“Sorry for the dirt, I was collecting herbs and slipped. I’m Oskar Huth, the medical man, mad scientist or sorcerer, whatever you want to call it. Come on, let’s bring you things upstairs.”

Archer followed his host with irritation. The room was small and basic, but clean, and from the window, he had a good overview of the village. Huth put down the baggage he was carrying.

“Make yourself comfortable. Dinner is at the neighbour’s house because I have many gifts, but cooking is not one of them.”

Archer nodded.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?

Huth pointed at the wooden box Archer had put on the table.

“I am curious. What is a German speaking English photographer doing at world’s end?”

As Archer wanted to answer, he waved his hand.

“You can tell me later. Get some rest, I’ll try to clean myself.”

Archer gazed after him, wary. He was aware that he had to be mindful and cautious not to give too much away, which seemed to be easy with the guys that accompanied him here, overbearing and overconfident as they were. But Huth … With him, he had to be much more careful. This man was very different from the others, judging by his only slight accent he wasn’t from around here. And his intelligence and alertness were rather unsettling, which startled and fascinated Archer simultaneously.


	4. He listens well who takes notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archer starts to explore the setting, but he isn’t welcomed and has to adapt to the primitive lifestyle. At least Huth and Luzi are tolerable.

Exhausted, Archer cleaned his dusty clothes and lay down on the creaky small bed. He allowed himself a bit self-pity. This place, the whole village was really primitive and crude. No running water, no electricity, no proper heating; the people, marked by their hard life and the rough weather, were coarse and uneducated. His wife had probably thought that she had found some kind of paradise in their home, which had been decent but not luxury at all – or so he had thought at the time.

With a sigh he rose and went downstairs. He had sold everything; it was nothing he should keep his mind occupied with. He had to focus on his plan.

He was relieved that he found Huth looking like a normal human being, clean and combed, although it showed again that he wasn’t originally from here. His clothes were different, a good fabric and a modern style, like his own. Archer took a closer look at the house. It was spartanly furnished, but he noticed dried herbs around the fireplace, glasses in different sizes and instruments like small knives, mortar and pestle and a magnifier. There was also a suitcase made from black expensive leather with two locks.

“One does find things in places one doesn’t expect there,” said Huth with an arch smile, his gaze fixed on Archer.

“Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?” Archer shrugged.

“Indeed, it is.” With a laugh, Huth opened the door. “I think we’ll get along very well. Now come on, you must be hungry. Let’s go next door.”

They brought the horses to the stable, then went to the Garder’s house. Of course, the women had already heard the news and awaited them at the door. The mother, a robust and calm middle-aged woman, greeted them politely and regarded the gold coin Huth handed her in astonishment. The young daughter, Luzi, was another kind though. She didn’t seem impressed, neither with the gold nor with the whole situation, but immediately after they sat down at the table with the thin soup, dark bread and butter, she blurted out questions about London, theatre, gas lanterns and the subway until her mother told her to stop; even the existence of Jack the Ripper had somehow reached this place, and she seemed personally offended that he hadn’t been caught yet. It was a very amusing dinner, and she and Huth seemed to be on good terms with each other. But she clearly didn’t know what to make of the polite, taciturn and sophisticated stranger and his business in this place. Then again, nobody could.

~ * ~

Huth didn’t know how to deal with the fact that, two years after he had moved up from an intruder on sufferance to a somewhat respected member of this secluded community, another stranger had come here, with a reason that wasn’t more convincing than his own had been. Why would a photographer strain himself like this to take pictures of the Alps? Even though nobody had ever documented this place, it was unlikely to grant him fame. He didn’t appear to be a madman either, at least not to Huth.

The villagers seemed to think differently. Archer was eyed like an alien when he started exploring the surroundings, placing his camera here and there. To most villagers he was suspicious, but they probably just thought that they had to hide their daughters from him. The Brenners however were dismissive, letting Archer feel that he still wasn’t welcomed – a pretty wimp with fancy clothes and outlandish accent. They didn’t take him seriously, and they didn’t trust him either. But like the bunch of alpha males they were, they didn’t feel threatened in any way. Still, they observed his movements in the village with a patronizing regard.

Much to Huth’s bafflement, Archer didn’t try to blend in or to make someone’s acquaintance. He didn’t talk to anyone except himself and the Garders. He wasn’t even taking many photos after a while, pretending to wait for snow. Some days he just sat at the border fence, watching the daily life and the coming and going, silent and seemingly dispassionate. But to Huth, he appeared highly concentrated, intently observing – but what, Huth couldn’t tell yet.

Apart from that, Huth enjoyed the evenings they spend together. When the nights got longer and colder, they sat on a rug by the fireplace, talking about the books Huth gave him to read. They had a similar taste in literature, and Archer always had a suitable answer to Huth’s sarcastic remarks.

Huth was generous with his wine supply, hoping for Archer to let slip some information, but it was actually himself who blabbed a lot, mostly about the Brenners, their power structures and every gossip regarding them. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but sometimes he had the diffuse feeling that he was being subtly interrogated. Huth had to accept reluctantly that his guest remained a mystery to him.


	5. A common guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is here and murder is easy. Huth and Archer discuss matters of the heart.

Almost four weeks had gone by, four weeks of observing, patience and increasing loathing. Everything was exactly as expected and even worse. Those who didn’t comply willingly to the Brenner’s rules and even value their system just resigned. Only some young people like Luzi showed at least inner opposition, but in the end, they had to play along.

And Huth – he was in fact a medical doctor, a good one, as far as one could tell. Archer saw him carefully treating severe injuries, mixing ointments and teas for any sickness; neat, effective and emotionless. His bedside manners weren’t perfect, but then again, no-one here was thin-skinned. He was vague about his reasons for being here, something about searching for solitude, which Archer didn’t believe for a second. However, Huth was let alone because it was unlikely that someone else with his skills would stay here voluntarily.

The Brenners in themselves – they resided all together with their wives and children in a massive house like a big spider, spinning their mighty net. Archer despised them more than he ever despised anyone. He didn’t mean to sympathize, but being an uninvolved outsider became harder with every day. He noticed Luzi’s disheartened wedding preparations, he saw people duck their heads whenever one of the Brenner’s came along.

He didn’t care about how they treated him tough, until the day he went to the local store to buy coffee and horseshoe nails, but mainly to assess the grocers who had sold his wife to the Brenners for a handful of gold coins. They were older than he had expected. The man was rather a sneak; the woman’s features showed signs of greed and baseness – at least it seemed like it to Archer, who could hardly breath with anger by the sight of them.

Three of the Brenner brothers were there too; they exchanged a few words, and then Archer refused to have a drink with the oldest one. Apart from hating schnapps he considered it inappropriate to drink with a man he would kill soon. Later, he thought that he should have relished the irony of it, because suddenly he found himself on the floor, struck down, the guy kneeling above him and forcefully pouring schnapps down his throat. He coughed and choked, both on the liquor and on the urge to end the man right here and now.

Luzi, who had to witness this mess, almost begged him to leave as long as he still could. “This is no place for you,” she said. How could she know that he didn’t fight back to keep his cover and eagerly waited for the snow to turn this place into a cold spacious trap and to make these bastards feel sorry for having underestimated him?

Finally, the day came. A few sporadic flakes, then more and more, almost a snowstorm, until the trees bowed down under the weight; then it stopped, and the valley became deathly cold and silent.

With the first snow the timber was brought in through a long and high-angled, fast skid. It was a dangerous work, and every healthy man helped, including the Brenners. The snow was so heavy that one felt like being caught in a giant cloud; the freezing breath became fog. The silence of the forest was only disturbed by the warning cries when another tree trunk was sent down. But at one point, it didn’t arrive. For endless minutes the men waited; and when they finally realized that something had to be wrong, they heard a loud cracking and grinding, and with an enormous speed the trunk crashed into the buffer, crushing the man it brought down with it.

This night, the knells chimed through the valley, gathering everyone to receive the dead man and his escort. Archer, on his horse, watched the scene from the outside, saw the old Brenner – for the first time – arrive to see his dead son. It was a tragic loss for the family, but there was more acceptance than mourning. Death was no uncommon guest here. He finds his in the rugged scarps of the Alps, or, as the proverb goes, they “abide with the mountains.”

Archer spotted Huth, their eyes met and Huth nodded, implying to meet at his house.

“The fewer of these ugly guys, the better. Let’s drink to that!” Huth raised his cup. They sat by the fire, warming with a hot grog, the place smelled of cinnamon and cloves.

“What happened?”

“Oh, just some lucky accident with the wood skid,” said Huth with glee. “You know, a Brenner’s widow is the happiest woman on this planet.”

Archer snorted amused. “Speaking of, I heard that Luzi is going to marry soon? She seems to be … tense because of it.”

A small laugh came from Huth. “That is not her fiancé’s fault. It’s the _ius primae noctis_ , a well-loved tradition here.”

The words lingered in the air.

Archer put his cup down. “Who would have thought that such a thing really existed. Why on earth do you live in a place like this?”

“The Brenner men are hardly human beings,” shrugged Huth, “but if you do what they want they leave you alone. I am useful to them so I have jester’s licence; and in the end, I have no plans on getting married. Why should I care? – Oh?” He was all sarcastic smile when he caught Archer’s disdainful glance. “What’s with that gaze? Don’t tell me you are compassionate. I took you for an observer.”

“You might not believe it, but that isn’t mutually exclusive.” Archer was vexed. This man was going on his nerves. It felt like he was constantly challenging him. Maybe he was.

“Hm.” Huth stretched and leaned against the mantelpiece, his eyes half closed. “What about you? A wife or mistress somewhere?”

Archer stared into the fire. “My wife died last year.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded honest and also a bit bitter.

“It’s alright. I liked her, but our marriage was rather a … social convention.”

Huth watched him with an unreadable expression. “I see.” He took another sip and then, with an impish sparkle in his eyes, he asked: “So, do you like Luzi?”

“What?!”

Huth raised his hands apologetically. “Just joking. Don’t hit me, please.”

“I do like her, but not like that.”

“Me too,” smiled Huth. “You know, maybe someday I’ll get her out of here and burn this rotten place down. Are you in?”

Archer stood up brusquely. “I’m a mere observer, remember? You said it.”

With that, he went to his room, leaving a puzzled Huth behind. He had to calm down. This conversation had been much to candid for his taste. _For god’s sake, be careful!_ He told himself. It was still never clear to him whether Huth was joking or not. Did he give too much away? On the other hand, thought Archer when he nestled down in his bed, he had to admit that he liked Huth – kind of. He was the most interesting person he had talked to for a while, and he appreciated the mutual literacy – and the sarcasm. And he was pretty sure that Huth wasn’t that aloof and indifferent as he pretended to be. Under other circumstances it would be fun to talk to him about anything for hours and get to know him better, but that wasn’t possible right now.

What was wrong with him? Without the slightest hint of remorse, he had just killed a man, smashed his head with a stone and threw him into a chute to get squished to a pulp; and all he could think of was Huth. _I wish I could trust him,_ he mused drowsily, and at the thought of a pair of icy blue eyes he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the characters and the story of The Dark Valley, which most of this work is based upon.  
> Critic and comments are welcome :)


End file.
